An Imperial Gambit (Wardens of Issalia Book 3)

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Epilogue

  Prince Broland stared out the window, watching white flakes drift down and spin when captured by an eddy. Once again, the ground outside the Nor Torin citadel was turning white as the snow began to gather. Over the previous few weeks, snow had fallen several times only to melt days later. He recalled the first such event, his initial experience with snow. It had given him a thin slice of joy, the first since Kony’s betrayal. Now, the snow meant nothing more than cold and miserable weather. It left the world outside seeming as bleak as Broland felt on the inside.

  His gaze shifted beyond the citadel walls, toward the harbor that lay below the city. Through the shifting white haze of snow, he found ships clogging the bay. It seemed as if they, too, simply desired shelter from the winter weather. Unfortunately, that would not be the case.

  He absently scratched his itching cheek and rubbed at the new beard growing there. It had come in nicely around his mouth but still appeared patchy on his cheeks. After never allowing more than a few day’s stubble in the past, he longed to shave it off. His father had made it clear that wasn’t an option.

  “A beard can give a man a new look, altering his appearance. Only those who know your face well will be likely to recognize you,” his father had said. “At this point, we need every advantage possible.”

  In contrast to Broland’s beard-in-progress, his father’s beard had grown in thick to the point that he had to already been forced to trim it.

  The door opened behind him, drawing Broland from his musing.

  “It’s time,” his father said as he entered the room. “Are you ready?”

  “Do we really have to leave,” Broland gestured toward the window, “in this weather?”

  King Brock crossed the room, grabbed a thick wool cloak, and threw it over his shoulders. “Welcome to winter in Nor Torin. If anything, the weather will grow worse if we wait.” He cinched the cloak so it covered his black coat and obscured the Chaos rune on his left breast. The man did not wear his crown, nor had there been any public announcement of his extended visit. “Don your cloak, Broland. It will help, especially once we’re on the water.”

  As instructed, Broland gathered his cloak and trailed his father out the door. Two armed guards waited in the corridor, following when the king and prince headed toward the stairwell. A rapid descent brought them out a side door on the ground level.

  A thin layer of white covered the courtyard, while footprints leading to the waiting carriage tainted the otherwise alabaster canvas. Eight mounted soldiers waited beside the carriage, half stationed ahead of it, the other half behind. Broland and his father headed straight for the open carriage door. Broland nodded to the driver who held the door as he climbed in. A man waited in the carriage, the same man who had been their host during their stay in Nor Torin.

  “As I age,” King Cassius said as Brock and Broland settled on the bench across from him, “I find that winter affects me more each year.” The gray-haired man looked out the window at the drifting flakes. “Aches from injuries healed long ago return to haunt me. Perhaps Issal grants me pain as a reminder of the lives I have taken. Regardless, my…condition,” he held a shaking hand before his face, “only exacerbates the issue.”

  “If you seek warmer weather, you could abdicate and put one of your boys on the throne,” Brock suggested. “Cities in the south enjoy a warmer climate, and I’d be happy to have your wisdom among Kantarian royalty. In fact, Wayport will soon be in need of a new duke. I trust you, and I am confident you would be outstanding in that role.”

  Cassius shook his head as the carriage lurched into motion. “I appreciate the offer, Brock, but my place is here. My people are here.” His gaze shifted to the window again as the carriage approached the citadel gate. “When I agreed to accept this crown, it was a life-long pact.”

  Brock reached over and gripped the man’s arm. “I understand, old friend.”

  During his stay at Nor Torin, a visit that had lasted four weeks, Broland had discovered much about the king. Stories about Cassius DeSanus’ exploits were common among the castle guards, despite the deeds behind those stories being decades old. As a captain in the Holy Army, an entity that no longer existed, Cassius had become a legend – a legend known as The Calm. Tall, strong, and athletic, his skill in wielding a sword had been unmatched while his demeanor during battle was consistently emotionless and calculating. The man’s current condition might have made others doubtful of his legendary prowess, but Broland had grown up around General Budakis, a similar icon who had been subject to the same deadly poison that inflicted Cassius. The result left both men shells of the warriors they had once been.

  Broland’s thoughts turned sour as he recalled the general’s murder – a murder at the hands of a trusted companion. If I ever find you, Kony, you will discover the harsh reality of revenge.

  The carriage turned and began a downhill journey toward the harbor. Despite the weather, the city remained active and alive, unwilling to bend to nature’s whims. It would require more than a few inches of snow to force the citizens of Nor Torin indoors.

  “I want to thank you again for your help, Cassius,” Brock said.

  Cassius waved the comment aside. “Nonsense. This is not just your fight, Brock.” He stared out the window, watching the snow drift past. “Left unchecked, the Empire will consume us all. We would then be right back to where we were twenty years ago. Regardless of what Varius and her ilk believe, it is wrong to condemn people simply because of an inherent ability. The ostracization of Unchosen during the Ministry’s reign was wrong.” He looked Brock in the eye. “What they plan now is…genocide. I find that downright evil.”

  “Regardless, I appreciate your support. Given the weapons we now face…”

  Cassius nodded, his expression grim. “We dare not lose.”

  “Yes,” Brock agreed. “But what price must we pay? I swore I would never again enlist civilians to fight a war for me, and yet I find myself recanting that oath. An oath is a promise backed by integrity. Without my integrity, what am I?”

  “You are still a good man, Brock.” There was an earnestness in Cassius’ gaze as he stared at Broland’s father. “Perhaps the best I have known.”

  The ground leveled and Broland looked out the window. The warehouses and docks of the harbor slid past. Empty wagons rolled down the docks, returning to the warehouses to reload. A cluster of armed guards, all dressed in the dark green and brown of Torinland, waited for them. The carriage drew to a stop, and a soldier marched forward to open the door.

  Broland climbed out as a gust of wind struck, forcing him to blink away the snow and cinch his cloak tight. He yanked the hood over his head and turned his back on the wind.

  Brock and Cassius were clasping forearms, leaning close as they spoke quietly. After a moment, Brock climbed out of the carriage and turned toward his fellow king.

  “Issal willing, I’ll see you in the spring.”

  Cassius nodded. “Until then, my friend, be well.”

  The carriage door closed, and the driver snapped the reins, the horses lurching into motion.

  Brock turned and waved Broland forward. “Let’s get on the ship and get out of this wind.”

  Turning, they headed toward the nearest pier, accompanied by an escort of twenty Torinland guards.

  Four ships hugged the pier, two on each side, each vessel rocking gently as the water roiled. When he reached the first ship, Brock led Broland up the plank and on deck. Ten of the guards followed while the remainder continued on to the next vessel.

  Two sailors unhooked the mooring lines, ran up the plank, and pulled it on board while others scurried about the ship, responding to the captain’s commands. Broland looked up at the quarterdeck and found a familiar face – the same person shouting the commands. The ship’s captain then turned toward a tall, rough-looking man and gave some direction before heading down to the main deck and walking purposefully toward Brock and Broland.

  “Welcome aboard Razo
r, Your Majesty,” Tenzi said with a shallow bow.

  “Thank you, Captain.” Brock replied in a loud voice before stepping closer, his volume dropping significantly. “I’m sorry we could not depart sooner, Tenzi. I know you are eager to free Parker and Dalwin, but…I must consider the bigger picture. There are far more than two lives at stake.”

  Tenzi pressed her lips together, her frustration apparent. “I just hope they are still...”

  Brock put his hand on her shoulder. “As do I. Both men are my friends, but my crown does not allow me to place a higher value on their lives than that of thousands of subjects.”

  She looked away. “I know. I just feel so…helpless.”

  “We will recapture Wayport. And when we do, Chadwick and Illiri will pay for their betrayal.”

  “Oh, they will pay. If I have my way,” she drew a knife and ran her finger along the blade. “It will be a very drawn out payment, one that might take days or weeks to complete.”

  “Tenzi…I cannot condone torture.” Brock’s tone was harder than steel.

  “Fine,” Tenzi sighed. She sheathed her dagger, and a gust of wind forced her to hold her hat down. “I have a ship to sail. Why don’t you two rest in my cabin? It’s warm in there now that I finally got the hole repaired. At least that came out of sitting here for eight days.”

  “Very well.”

  Tenzi turned and marched toward the quarterdeck with Brock and Broland trailing behind. When she climbed to the quarterdeck, the father and son duo ducked into the door beside the stairs.

  The room was dark save for one window along the outer wall and a pale glowlamp on a wall sconce. Unlike the dark boards surrounding it, the far wall was constructed of fresh, pale planks. Broland rubbed his hands together and blew in them for warmth as he crossed the room and sat on the bed. In the meantime, Brock grabbed a chair, sat at the table, and withdrew a map from his coat. Broland watched as his father unfolded the map and spread it across the table.

  “How long will it take to sail to Wayport?” Broland asked.

  His father looked up at him, blinking in thought. “Remember, we have stops to make at Port Choya and Sunbleth. Even then, it depends on the weather. All things considered, I expect to land in Wayport ten days from now.”

  Broland had never been to Wayport. He had never been anywhere other than Kantar until now. The trip, their mission, led him to recall the day Tenzi had arrived in Nor Torin, a week earlier.

  He and his father had been in Cassius’ study, the two kings sharing conjecture as to what the Empire might do next. Cassius sat in the heart of the room, resting on a padded chair while Broland leaned against the wall and his father stared out the window beside him. The door opened, and a guard leaned in, drawing the attention of all three men.

  “Excuse me, your Majesty. You have a visitor who…”

  A short blond woman dressed in tight breeches and tall boots pushed past the guard, bursting into the room to address the Torinland king.

  “Cassius, I need your help! Parker…” Tenzi stopped mid-sentence her mouth agape as she stared across the room. “Brock! You’re alive!”

  Broland’s father shifted from his position beside the window, speaking as he crossed the room. “Yes. Very much so, I assure you.”

  “I heard you were assassinated.” Tenzi’s gaze flicked toward Broland. “Your son as well. And Ashland, she…”

  “Ashland is fine.” Brock stopped before Tenzi and put his hand on her shoulder. “She was in a coma, but awoke and has now recovered. She sits on the throne in my stead.”

  “Why are you here? Why does everyone believe you are dead?”

  “They believe I am dead because that is what I wish them to believe.” Brock clasped his hands behind his back as he paced. Broland had seen his father do it often, particularly when Brock was thinking aloud. “The Empire sent an assassin to kill me. I thought it best if they believed they had succeeded. By doing so, they will now focus elsewhere. While the Empire believes I am dead, I can move about freely and prepare a counter attack.”

  Brock stopped and looked at Broland. “As for my son’s false death, it is for his protection. With me out of the way, he would be the Empire’s next target. Unfortunately, I fear Ashland has now become a target. It is a burden she has accepted, and Wharton will do what he must to protect her.” Brock smiled. “Besides, our enemies will find my wife far from helpless.”

  Tenzi glanced toward Cassius and then looked back at Brock. “I need your help. Parker and Dalwin have been captured.”

  “Dalwin is alive?” Cassius said.

  “Yes. But that may soon change.” She pulled the black, wide-brimmed hat from her head and smoothed back her blond locks as she stared at Brock. “Your son and another warden freed Pretencia from the citadel dungeon in Sol Polis.”

  “Brandt?”

  Tenzi nodded. “Yes, Brandt. Delvin put him on my ship and had me deliver him to Sol Polis. Two nights later, he returned to my ship with the king of Kalimar. We sailed off in the dark of night and made for Wayport. My ship required restocking, and I thought it best to notify Chadwick of the situation while I was in port…but Chadwick betrayed us. He has joined the Empire’s cause, Brock. It sounds like they promised him all of Kantaria in return.”

  Brock’s fists clenched tight, his knuckles turning white. “That slime. I’m sure it was Illiri who convinced him to switch sides. Chadwick bends to her will…or perhaps her beauty. Regardless, I wish he had never married that woman.”

  Tenzi nodded. “Illiri is a scheming wench for sure. While I was in the room, she forced Chadwick’s betrayal after a young man with dark hair told him you were dead.”

  Broland’s eyes narrowed. “A young man with black hair? Amber eyes?” He stood, holding his hand a few inches above his head. “About this tall?”

  “Yeah. That sounds right.”

  “Kony,” Broland growled.

  “Yes. Kony.” Tenzi nodded. “That was what Chadwick called him. After Kony informed Chadwick of your death, the duke called for our arrest. I made a run for it, barely escaping with my life. Parker and Dalwin were not so lucky. Both had been shackled and were headed to the dungeon.” Tenzi’s gaze shifted from Brock to Cassius and back to Brock. “I need your help to free them.”

  Brock stared at Tenzi for a long moment. Silence ruled the room, and Broland found himself holding his breath. Finally, Brock shifted closer to Tenzi, his hand on her arm.

  “I will help them, but I cannot do it until we are ready.” Brock’s gaze locked on Cassius. “We are gathering forces, supplies, and ships. If we can use the Razor, it will make things go faster, but I cannot leave until I am ready.”

  Tenzi’s fierce gaze softened, her eyes pleading. “Please, Brock. I don’t want to lose him. I can’t lose him.”

  Brock wrapped his arms about Tenzi, her head resting against his shoulder. “I know. He’s my friend, too. However, this fight is bigger than just you and me. We fight for the freedom of thousands, and I cannot afford to be selfish. Just pray to Issal that he remains safe until we arrive. If he is in Wayport when we land, I will see him freed. I promise.”

  Broland saw the pain in his father’s eyes as he said the words. For the first time, he thoroughly comprehended the difficult decisions one must make when ruling a country. His own desire for revenge suddenly seemed petty and selfish.

  The ship rocked hard, the motion shaking Broland from the memory as he nearly fell off Tenzi’s bed.

  “We hit the breakers,” his father said. “This might be an unpleasant journey with the storm over us.”

  The ship had cleared the relatively smooth waters of the harbor and the waves had grown tenfold. The room tilted and twisted as the ship rocked, seemingly bending Broland’s vision as his stomach turned sour.

  “I don’t feel well.” Broland’s hand went to his stomach.

  “Seasickness.” Brock nodded, knowingly. “It’s only your second voyage, and the last was quite tame. I suggest you go back outside an
d watch the shoreline until your stomach settles. It helps.”

  Without another word, Broland stood and stumbled toward the door.

  As Broland closed the door behind him, a gust of wind struck and he raised his hood, holding it with one hand while the other pinched his cloak together. The deck tilted, and he staggered to the port-side rail, looking toward shore as the ship altered direction, gradually turning south. The shipyards along the coast appeared empty, dormant for the winter. The hull of a partially built ship, and the frames to hold another ship, appeared lonely and forgotten.

  Seven other vessels trailed behind Tenzi’s ship, all part of the armada Broland’s father and King Cassius had gathered. Broland expected the fleet would double in size by the time they reached Wayport. Each was well stocked with food for the soldiers and the citizens who had been enlisted.

  As the ships sailed farther from shore, the waves grew larger. When the Razor would rise, Broland’s breakfast would rise with it. When the ship dipped, it only grew worse. Another rise and another dip caused his breakfast to find its way into the sea.

  Once emptied, his stomach began to feel better. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and breathed in the fresh, cool air. The falling snow around him had turned to a cold mist, yet the tree-covered hillsides sliding past remained coated in white. Between him and the shoreline, waves struck black rocks jutting above the water, creating white sprays that fanned and fell in foam. He stared at the shoreline for a long while, hoping to stave off another wave of nausea. The scene was surreal, despite the cold.

  The ship eased past a rocky point to reveal another sheltered bay, surrounded by the tall cliffs that defined most of the shoreline between Nor Torin and Kantar. In the bay, Broland spotted ships – a dozen or more. He frowned, wondering why ships might be moored in such an odd location. Sailors scurried about those ships, climbing the masts and unfurling the sails. Alarmed, Broland turned, hurried to the stairs, and climbed up to the quarterdeck.

  Tenzi was at the helm, focused on the south horizon. Holding the rail beside her, Broland pointed and shouted.